The relative attractiveness of certain politicians has been much in the news of late. John Spencer called Hillary so ugly he can’t imagine why Bill ever waited at the end of an aisle over her, Hillary protested that she was “a cutie,” Spencer swore he never made such a comment, the reporter came forward with, “He said it, and worse,” and now a Spencer aide explains the whole situation with, “he meant that she was ugly as a person.”

There is so much ugliness in the world, and so many different ways to embody it. Ugly can result from brutality, an inattentiveness to appearance, a bad attitude, among many other possibilities. That man at the ASPCA who wanted to leave his dog alone in the ASPCA waiting room like one leaves a car at the mechanic, he was ugly to me, but so was the chick eating the gyro on the subway platform (it smells like pee there!). My boss was wretchedly ugly this morning when she scoffed at my suggestion that the Port Authority has a relatively inexpensive bowling alley. “Eww, who would go there? That’s trashy.” “Trashy” made me feel incredibly ugly, which made her suddenly look ugly, and if she hadn’t been so empathetic lately about my cat, I might’ve disliked her for it.

A lack of empathy is possibly the ugliest quality I know. We all, at times, find it lacking.

The royal family are blessed with a crown, a kingdom, but they are not blessed with looks. Or voting rights, as the Queen laments in the opening scene while posing for a portrait. Stephen Frears is kind to the royals in casting Helen Mirren as the Queen and Alex Jennings as Prince Charles. (James Cromwell’s turn as Prince Philip neither flatters nor disparages physically, but wow, what a doof Phil turns out to be.) God bless the Queen, because as she paces the halls of Balmoral and the Palace, she looks every bit royal in those prim but trim suits and classic Kelly bags. She’s ... dowdy AND chic, if its possible.  Which it seems to be. Granted, Mirren retains a waistline, has twenty years less time on her than the queen has (well, ten, given the film’s timeframe), but Frears’ Queen possesses something of an intimidating wit when she stands above and before an earnest Tony Blair or a nervous Prince Charles or a toady Prince Philip. She’s damn fun to watch (Mirren plays the role spot on). It’s when she stands before her subjects that her power withers. A crowd always intimidates.

Frears revisits here the Queen’s version of Bush’s famous seven minutes: those moments when, by conventional wisdom at least, something should have been said or done in a crisis and wasn’t. The crisis here is the week following Princess Diana’s death, when throngs of British citizens mobbed the castle while the Queen vacationed in Scotland.  As the film opens, our hearts are not with her. We arrive ready for satire; giggles abound at royal obsessions and stuffy pasttimes and the inappropriateness of the Queen answering to “Cabbage.” Frears has great fun with a stuffy and archaic notion of protocol (and the people who believe in it), with images of the blissfully unaware royal family khakied and kilted in rural Scotland juxtaposed against archival footage of Diana’s mourning throngs (I accidentally typed “morning thongs,” I have to tell you). But Frears, wisely, turns away from the easy joke, and settles into a portrait made richer by its compassion. And that sounds no fun, doesn’t it? But it is fun. And enlightening. And ever so satisfying, to boot.

Ostensibly, the Queen is about British history, reform vs. monarchy, tradition, protocols, a moment in time .... this is how my fellow filmgoers viewed it. I wouldn’t argue with them about that perspective, they’re right, really, and if you’re interested in that you’ll be interested in this. But myself, I watched a study in empathy, particularly where it is hardest. The Queen is inevitably, as you know without seeing the film, called to empathize--or, rather, simulate empathy--publicly before a grieving nation. This is not her gift, and it was certainly done more out of political concern than love. But en route to this moment, she is revealed to possess the capacity for such emotion (I’ll not reveal the details, just to say that it borders on hokey before it, thankfully, gracefully morphs into a more telling revelation of character than I’d expected it to bring), as well as engendering empathy in her foes: Blair, the crowd, you, the audience. Myself, I’ve never been a fan of royalty; I don’t consider this an easy task. The Queen may not rank as the “Best Film of the Year” or the “Best Film in a Decade,” as I’d seen it lauded before I entered the theater. It has a made-for-TV movie quality really, albeit a made-for-TV movie that’s compelling and worth a rental if you miss it’s original air date. Say, an HBO Sunday night. That Frears accomplishes a portrait both critical and flattering makes the film worth the watch. That he draws our attention to the real nature and difficulty of compassion makes the film beautiful.

And I have to ask: what was up with the Diana thing, anyway? The Queen has a point. I didn’t get it then, I don’t get it now. I mean, it was sad and all, but, Christ ... and I’m saying that as a princess.